Heavy Wool

I pulled a loose thread on the cuff

and the whole sleeve started to bow.

I’ve spent a lifetime acting tough,

but the wool is giving up on me now.

It’s matted and thick at the chin,

scraping a red heat into the skin

where I used to hide my face and wait

for someone to show up at the gate.

This hat is a box for a head

that no longer thinks the same things.

It smells like the dust of the dead

and the salt that a cold winter brings.